


when we were gone astray

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Christmas Eve, Drinking, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: It's Christmas Eve. Two vigilantes walk into a bar.





	when we were gone astray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frosted_astronaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosted_astronaut/gifts).



> Ambiguously set after s2 but I didn't watch The Punisher so don't squint very hard at the timeline! Happy holidays! <33

Matt’s decision to get drunk before Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve doesn’t come from his inner good Catholic boy, but he’s sure he won’t be the only one there who’s pre-gamed and he’s not exactly good. He was never _good_ , exactly.

Normally, he’d be going with Foggy’s family, but he should be able to slip in after it starts and hide in the back and listen guiltily to Foggy whispering to his younger cousins and making them laugh and getting admonished by his mom. It’s the same every year.

It won’t matter that Matt’s not allowed to laugh with them anymore.

Josie’s is almost empty except for one surprising, familiar heartbeat. He almost doesn’t believe it, but Josie says, lowering her voice and gesturing toward the corner of the bar, “Don’t look but I think that’s the fucking Punisher.”

“I definitely won’t look,” Matt says, adjusting his glasses, lips tilting up. “Did you call the police?”

“I’m no snitch,” she says.

“Fair enough. Two whiskeys?”

Frank’s heartbeat picks up when Matt walks over.

“Hey, Frank,” Matt says, softly.

“How’d you know?” he asks—almost more curious than defensive.

“Nothing gets past Josie,” Matt says, sitting the second glass in front of Frank and sitting down without asking. “I see you’re also having a merry Christmas.”

“Don’t really celebrate it anymore,” Frank says. “Why the hell are you here and not with your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Matt says, taking a long drink and making a face when he swallows, shaking his head.

“Page come to her senses?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, laughing. “Yeah, actually—Foggy, too. They finally figured out putting up with my bullshit isn’t worth it.”

“Took ‘em long enough.”

“I agree.”

“So, this is your Christmas plan?” Frank asks, after a few long, awkward moments that Matt doesn’t bother to fill. “Drinking alone?”

“Hey, great minds,” Matt says. “I’ll be going to Mass later, though.”

“Ah, right,” Frank says. “Choirboy.”

“Not exactly,” Matt says, dryly. “When’s the last time you were in a church, anyway?”

 He’s caught between joking and genuine. Frank echoes that feeling exactly down to the slump of his shoulders, scoffs softly but goes silent for a few long moments that aren’t enough to make Matt want to change the subject.

“My, uh—my wife,” Frank says, eventually, huffing out a laugh. “She was the every Christmas and Easter kinda Catholic. Only time she could get me in a suit.”

“Mmm,” Matt says, smiling, unsure of what to say but aware that Frank’s heartbeat’s only a little fast. Like he’s comfortable, just on edge, like he probably always is. Like Matt is, too.

“God probably ain’t pleased with my choices, anyway,” Frank says.

“You could take it to confession,” Matt says, raising his eyebrows and continuing dryly, “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

“It might be fun to scare the shit out of a priest,” Frank says, taking a drink.

“. . .do you know how many people you’ve killed?”

Matt’s always wondered. Frank’s not a spree killer, not a maniac—but exactly how methodical is he? Does he keep a record? Does he want to remember all of them?

“Yeah.”

“You won’t tell me.”

“Nope.”

“Well,” Matt says, leaning back in his chair. “I was gonna tell you how many Hail Marys you’d have to say to get into heaven, but fine. . .”

“Christ,” Frank says, laughing. “If there’s a hell, I’m goin’. I’m ready for it.”

“You think so?” Matt asks.

“Already been through it once,” Frank says. His fingers clench around his glass before he finishes it, immediately getting to his feet. “You want another?”

Matt falters before finishing his drink, too, and sliding the glass to him.

“Yeah, please.”

*

“You’re gonna be late if you don’t leave now,” Frank says. “Don’t wanna keep Jesus waiting.”

“He’s pretty patient, traditionally,” Matt says, drunker than he intended to be, rubbing aimlessly at a nick in the table with his thumb. “I guess I should, though—are you coming with me?”

“Fuck no,” Frank says, almost pleasantly. “What about the last hour made you think I’d be doin’ that?”

“Well,” Matt says, shrugging, “I’m a pretty good influence compared to you.”

“Jesus,” Frank murmurs. “C’mon, Red. I’ll walk you halfway.”

They pay and Josie hisses, “What the _fuck_ , Murdock,” but doesn’t push the point that Matt’s drunk and leaving with a convicted mass murderer. She’s not a snitch but she’s definitely a gossip and he’d rather it not get back to Foggy and Karen that it looks like he’s about to go drunkenly hook up with The Punisher.

They walk silently for a few blocks before Matt’s brain catches up to the idea of drunkenly hooking up with Frank, to the fact that they’re walking close enough that Matt can feel his body heat, and then he makes a choice that you could only make when drunk off cheap whiskey on Christmas Eve after losing the first girl you ever loved and fire-bombing your entire goddamn life.

“Hey,” he says, stopping and taking Frank’s arm. “Come—come here.”

It says something that they bonded enough that Frank lets Matt pull him into an alley but he goes stiff when Matt backs him up against the wall.

“Whoa, there,” Frank says, softly.

“It’s okay,” Matt says, reaching up to touch his face, fingers brushing over a scratchy beard. “It’s okay, just let me—”

He pushes up to try and kiss him and Frank pushes him away gently, not so Matt isn’t touching him anymore, just enough to give him room to put his arms around Matt instead. It’s not what Matt was expecting. It’s a fucking _hug_. But the feeling of being held so close while he’s cold because he came out without a coat and dizzy from drinking is enough to have him tearing up, face heating with embarrassment.

He can’t remember the last time someone touched him that wasn’t trying to hurt him.

“Sorry,” he says, swallowing hard. “I should just—I’ve gotta go.”

“I don’t wanna be part of something you’ll need to confess later,” Frank says.

Matt hides his face in Frank’s shoulder before leaning up to press a kiss to his mouth, gently. His lips are cold, but his breath is warm against Matt’s mouth. He’s not moving away again.

“I’ve always got something to confess for,” he says, running his hands down Frank’s sides to rest at his waist, cautiously. “One more can’t hurt.”

Frank breathes heavily for a long moment before flipping them so Matt’s pressed up against the bricks, gasping when Frank kisses him roughly. It’s exactly what Matt’s been needing, Frank’s fingers pulling at his hair, his tongue in Matt’s mouth.

He’s wondering if Frank will come home with him when Frank suddenly lets go of him entirely, taking a couple of steps back.

“You’ve gotta get to church,” he says, gruffly.

“I—I can miss it,” Matt says. “Do you want to—”

“No, Red,” Frank says, as he walks backward, toward the sidewalk. “Go to church. It’s Christmas.”

“Frank,” Matt starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have a script for this.

“I’ll see you around,” Frank says, leaves before Matt can collect himself enough to do anything about it, too proud to run after him even though he already misses the feeling of being that close to someone.

He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath, catalogs everything he can hear in his head.

Christmas carols, hymns, praying, fighting, lovemaking, rats nearby in the dumpster, three dogs barking in the same building.

Frank’s footsteps.

Frank’s heart beating fast.


End file.
